


Wasted & Wet

by shadesofhades



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Barebacking, M/M, Omorashi, So is the author, They are drunk, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 17:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15151631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofhades/pseuds/shadesofhades
Summary: Trapper had long since considered himself a pervert, but this was the first time he'd ever really worried about actually being one.





	Wasted & Wet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annabeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabeth/gifts).



> This is not my kink, but it does happen to be a favorite kink of a friend who recently had a birthday, and I was drunk enough to try writing it. Hopefully I did the kink justice.
> 
> Happy belated birthday, Annabeth! (Also thanks for the beta. Hopefully your eyes only mildly bled.)

They were three-sheets to the wind drunk -- hell, they were past that and moving on to catatonic.

Bad decisions always happened when they were this drunk, or more accurately the same bad decision that always ended up with an awkward morning after where neither one of them met each other's eye but he was pretty sure left them both satisfied in a way that nurses never did.

Hawkeye's hand came up to his chest to push him away, and reluctantly Trapper let their lips part.

“I need the latrine,” Hawkeye said breathlessly, and Trapper felt a pang of loss as he stared down at his lips, red and swollen from their vigorous kissing session. 

“Now?”

Hawkeye sighed, his hands wandering over Trapper's back before he pulled his body closer to fit between his legs. He seemed about as eager to leave as Trapper felt to lose him. He hoped that it was a sign that things would progress along as they had before when Hawkeye started to kiss him again. Maybe the need wasn't so urgent.

“Five minutes ago, actually,” Hawkeye said between kisses. “And that was before you decided to climb on top of me. My bladder feels like a dam about to burst.”

Hawkeye made no attempt to move, so Trapper didn't either; instead, he helped Hawkeye remove his shirt.

“I would give anything for the latrine to be closer,” Hawkeye said before their lips met again.

“I'd give anything for you to be closer,” Trapper replied, his fingers fumbling with Hawkeye's belt. It wasn't very successful, his fingers feeling uncoordinated and detached, but he managed after a moment -- but the zipper was a different story. The zipper stymied him. 

“If we were any closer we'd be the same person,” Hawkeye said before he reached down and gripped Trapper's hand, forcing his hand away so he could unbutton and unzip his own pants -- at least one of them was sober enough to at least undress them -- turning next to Trapper's.

“That's the idea.”

Hawkeye pushed him up and Trapper complied, rolling back onto his heels to give Hawkeye room to maneuver. For a moment he thought maybe he had finally decided the need to pee outweighed sex, but he just pushed his pants down his hips and threw them aside. Trapper would do the same if he wasn't so drunk that he was afraid a change in balance would make him topple off the edge of Hawkeye's cot; instead he pushed them down his hips far enough for his aching cock to spring free.

He knew the air inside the tent was cold -- the puffs of breath leaving his mouth could attest to that -- but he didn't feel it, his blood felt too hot within his veins. That was what had started this whole thing -- the cold, the need to wrap themselves around each other and feel warm if only for a few moments. Of course, the alcohol had long since helped that and now he was starting to feel overheated and numb.

He wet his fingers in his own mouth before he settled back between Hawkeye's thighs and kissed him. His fingers fumbled for a moment before he found Hawkeye's entrance and pushed one finger inside. It went in far easier than expected, and for a moment Trapper wondered if maybe they'd been doing this too often, or at the very least if Hawkeye had. The thought unsettled him for a moment, his drunk mind tripping over a list of _others_ that might take his place, but then Hawkeye moaned and his thoughts quickly fell away like dropped notes in Father Mulcahy's ragtime tunes.

Incensed by the way Hawkeye's hips canted forward, Trapper slipped another finger in beside the first, scissoring them sloppily. Hawkeye sucked in a sharp breath, but if he was bothered by how quickly this was progressing he kept it to himself. Truthfully, if Hawkeye was half as drunk as he was, he likely wouldn't feel a tank running him over -- although he'd feel it in the morning.

“Just fuck me already,” Hawkeye complained, and Trapper didn't need to be told twice. He quickly pulled his fingers loose from the cradle of Hawkeye's body and tried to spit in his hand. It missed, landing wetly on the mattress between Hawkeye's thighs. He tried again, but the spit just rolled down his chin before Hawkeye finally seemed to have enough and grabbed his hand, spitting into his open palm.

“Thanks,” Trapper told him with a grin before he stroked his spit-slicked palm over his dick, then lined himself up.

Hawkeye’s body swallowed him easily, and Trapper was momentarily fascinated by watching his cock disappear into his body. He may have been hypnotized for a while longer if Hawkeye hadn't grabbed the front of his shirt to pull him forward so they could kiss again.

He balanced carefully -- Hawkeye's legs thrown over his shoulders trying hard to unbalance him -- and after a moment began to move slowly, his thrusts as clumsy as he felt. 

If Hawkeye cared about how uncoordinated the fucking was he would never know. There was just the unsteady intake of his breath as comment as they moved together, long lazy limbs tangled together with the puffs of steam from their breaths.

Fingernails dug into his back through his shirt, and despite the looseness of his limbs Hawkeye was panting beneath him, tiny breathless sighs escaping his lips until there was a sudden and quick,

“Ah-- _ahhhhh_!”

Wetness spread across the front of his shirt as Hawkeye's body tightened around his and for the longest moment Trapper thought that Hawkeye had come already without even a hand on his cock. That was until he felt Hawkeye's cock still hard and rubbing rhythmically against his belly and he realized what really happened: Hawkeye lost control of his bladder and--

Oh, _fuck_. He had no idea he could be so turned on by anything in his life. 

His breath hitched and his balls tightened and he almost apologized out loud when he realized he was about to come far too quickly. But it was too late to stop it, his cock emptying into Hawkeye's body just seconds later. 

Slowly, he rocked into Hawkeye's body, milking his orgasm until his dick started to feel too sensitive even under the influence of alcohol.

He didn't know what to say when he pulled out and Hawkeye was still hard and staring at him, his eyes half-lidded with undisguised lust. He felt shame course through him -- he had always made sure Hawk had found his before Trapper had, but this time had been so unexpected and surprising. 

He had long since considered himself a pervert -- and if he had forgotten that he was, Frank was always there to remind him -- but this was the first time he'd ever really worried about actually being one. He had just gotten off on his best friend wetting himself. 

He wasn't drunk enough to think about this right now.

“Come on, Trap. You can think about it tomorrow, when you're sober, just--”

Hawkeye squirmed and Trapper finally took pity on him, trying to push what just happened out of his mind as he wrapped his hand around his cock. It didn't take long before Hawkeye came in hot splashes over his fingers.

“I'm startin’ to think Frank’s right about us,” Trapper said after a moment, wiping his fingers across his chest before he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it to the filthy floor.

“Frank is never right,” Hawkeye said, shifting away from the large wet spot on the mattress. He wasn't sure how they were going to wash the smell out without a lot of questions, but Hawkeye didn't seem bothered by the thought -- or by the fact that Frank would undoubtedly be able to smell the strong scent of urine and sweat as soon as he came back from post-op duty. 

“We're perverts,” Trapper told him as he threw his legs over the edge of the cot.

There was dirt instantly between his toes but for once he didn't dwell on the filth of the Swamp, or the fact that a rat chose that moment to run across the top of his feet -- he was too caught up in thinking about what it meant, getting off on something like that.

“Proud to be,” Hawkeye said. His voice sounded far away and sleepy. “I'm thinking about starting my own club: Perverts Anonymous. We'll all wear masks and tell each other dirty stories.”

“You pissed on me,” Trapper accused. 

“I'm very drunk,” Hawkeye replied flippantly, and Trapper recognized that tone -- this conversation had about reached the end of the road and it was only a matter of time before he was sleeping.

“So am I,” Trapper tried.

“What I'd really like is to be very asleep,” Hawkeye said pointedly.

“Yeah, okay.”

There was a brief pause before Trapper leaned over and kissed Hawkeye on the cheek -- he'd meant for it to land on his mouth, but it missed, and it didn't seem important enough to try again. 

Hawkeye settled in when Trapper pulled the blanket up from the foot of the bed and he got up to go to his own, the world tilting on its axis as he stumbled forward.

He redid his pants and found another cleanish shirt to pull on before he climbed into his own bed, fully aware that Hawkeye would wake up soon cold and wet and probably climb in with him. At least one of them should have clothes on when Frank came back.

Sleep didn't come easily -- he laid there for a long time listening to Hawkeye's steady breathing across the Swamp. Pulling the covers up to his ears, he wondered why after all this time of drunken sex, he was suddenly so eager for a repeat performance -- maybe this time sober.

**Author's Note:**

> I've heard a lot of stories over the years from my Navy friends about getting so drunk they wet the bed or their pants, or other people's beds and pants and I guess I just kept thinking how weird it was that no one ever writes about them accidentally peeing when they're drunk.


End file.
